


Hunters, Inc.

by RainbowWisher



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby (mentions), Canon Compliant, Charlie (mentions), Gen, Original Characters - Freeform, Season/Series 10 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowWisher/pseuds/RainbowWisher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam wakes up in what he thinks is a hospital, he (and eventually Dean) finds out more than he ever expected about the world he thought he always knew.  Could the Winchester brothers finally have found reliable allies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunters, Inc.

Soft light, white walls, crisp, uncomfortable sheets, a rhythmic beeping, and the faint but unmistakable smell of antiseptic.

 

Sam had cracked his eyes open, even though everything in him screamed against it, squinting at his current surroundings.  Hospital?  Was he in a hospital?  No.  No, not a hospital.  He had been in far too many enough that he knew their rhythm, their pattern.  There was no sound of movement beyond the door that stood a few feet past the foot of his bed, no hushed talking, no echo of other medical machines in other rooms.

 

He gasped when he tried to turn his head to get a better look around the room, pain lancing through the abused flesh of his neck.  His eyes watered against it, and he shut his eyes tightly, waiting for it to pass into something less excruciating.  He huffed out a few breaths as it became a dull throb, and then tried to take in the space again.  There were no windows that he could see; a long, opaque curtain bisected the room, so there may have been one on that side.  Sam was just getting ready to muster up the reserves of his energy to try to sit up when the door opened.

 

“Oh, Mr. Winchester, you’re awake!” the woman who greeted him with a wide, genuine smile of relief wore a medical coat and dark grey scrubs and carried a tablet in the crook of her arm.  She appeared to be in her late twenties, and the name ‘Chidike” was embroidered in cursive script on her coat.  Sam found himself wanting to be calmed by the kindness in her smile, but he pushed the feeling aside.  There was a cautious wariness in her eyes that gave him pause.

 

“I’m Dr. Chidike,” she told him, tapping a finger to the name on her coat, “but please call me Sabi.  We don’t stand on ceremony much around here, at least not in my department.”  Sam started to try to ask where he was, where his brother was, but the doctor was walking toward curtain and pulling it back.  Dean came into view, then, and Sam let out a short gasp of horror.  Almost every inch of skin he could see of his brother that wasn’t heavily bandaged was mottled with livid bruises.  

 

His eyes flew to the doctor’s face, but she wasn’t smiling any more.  “Your brother’s injuries were pretty severe,” she told him as she checked the machines that were monitoring Dean.  “We’ve had to do a couple of surgeries, but-“ here she offered Sam another smile- “his prognosis is very good.  We anticipate he’ll make a full recovery in just a couple of weeks.  Of course, it could be a lot shorter if you could contact Ca—“

 

“ _Sabitha_ ,” a woman’s voice cut her off, a clear warning in her tone.  It had come from her tablet.

 

Sam mustered enough strength to sit up, groaning as he did so.  The cannula slipped from his nose, and he pulled the tubes from around his ears, letting the whole thing fall into his lap.  Without it, he suddenly realized how much more difficult it was for him to breath, but he didn’t bother to replace it.  “You-“ he started to say, but his voice came out in a breathy rasp.  He coughed a couple of times, and was startled to feel a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Slowly, Mr. Winchester,” the doctor advised with an encouraging look.  He wanted so badly to trust her, felt like he could, like he should, but…

 

“You,” he tried again, with a little more success, “you were about to say Castiel.”  He fixed her with a gaze that he hoped would convey that he would brook no lies.

 

Sabi, she had called herself, glanced down at her tablet with a sigh.  “Yes.  I was.”

 

“ _Dr. Chidike_ ,” the woman’s voice came again, clearly annoyed.

 

“Oh, what’s the point?” Sabi countered, setting the tablet down on the small table by Sam’s bed, visible now that he was sitting up.  “We were going to have to tell them everything eventually anyway.  And anyway, I’m sure Dean is pretty tired of pretending to be unconscious at this point.”

 

“ _sonnuvabitch_ ,” he muttered.  Sam’s eyes flew to his brother’s face, and he watched in relief as the muscles in Dean’s jaw worked and he cut an angry glare at the doctor that stood between their beds.

 

“You a demon?” he half growled as he slowly eased himself into a sitting position, just the barest of winces belying his pain as he did so.

 

“Direct, I like it, but no.”  The doctor pulled up the sleeve of her coat and revealed the black of an anti-possession tattoo etched into the dark skin of her inner forearm.  “They’re standard issue once you sign the non-disclosure agreement.”

 

Sam exchanged a confused look with his brother.  “We’re…not in a hospital, are we.”

 

“Far from it, although we do have a state of the art medical facility.”  Sabi frowned very slightly.  “I’m not explaining this very well.”

 

The door opened again, and a woman in an impeccably tailored suit said, “No, you generally don’t, Dr. Chidike.”

 

“Oh, professional titles in front of patients.  I know I’m in trouble now.”  Sabi didn’t seem chagrined at all.  If anything, she was grinning at the woman who didn't look at all pleased.

 

The expression lasted for a beat before the woman’s severe expression broke and she rolled her eyes with what seemed like a fond smile.  “You’re lucky that you’re so cute.  Now, unless you have a further _medical_ need to be here, I suggest you leave me with the Winchester brothers.”

 

The doctor took one last look at their monitors, made a couple of notes on her tablet, and then patted each of them lightly on their shoulder.  “Don’t worry, boys.  Her bite is worse than her bark.”

 

With a last wink at the woman, and encouraging smile at her patients, she left the room.  Sam glanced at his brother and found Dean smirking.  “Dipping your tip in the company ink?”

 

Oh, God, sometimes the things his brother said mortified him.  The woman only gazed at him, an answering smirk pulling the edges of her suddenly too-red mouth.  “Why wouldn’t I?  She’s my wife.”

 

Sam almost laughed at the absurdly flustered look on Dean’s face, doubly so when he offered a weak, “Mazel tov.”

 

But nothing about this was funny, not when there were so many unanswered questions.  They came tumbling out of him before he could rein   “Who are you?  Where are we?  How do you know about anti-possession charms and Castiel?”

 

The woman looked at both of them for a moment, and Sam felt like he was being carefully measured.  She then unbuttoned her suit jacket it, took it off and laid it on the foot of Dean’s bed, and then pushed up the sleeve of her right arm, revealing another tattoo.  “She wasn’t kidding about these being standard issue.  My name is Gwendolyn Daniels-Chidike, and I’m the regional head of operations for HWRD, Inc.”

 

The name didn’t ring any immediate bells, and he could tell from Dean’s blank expression that he didn’t recognize it either.  “Howard?  Who the hell is Howard?”

 

“H-W-R-D,” the woman clarified, spelling it out. “Hunter Weapons Research and Development.”

 

Sam felt his brows knit in sudden concern and confusion.  “Hunter?  You can’t mean-”

 

“Yes, Sam- may I call you Sam?” her expression was still hard, but he sensed she was genuinely trying to be polite.  He nodded his assent, and she continued, “Yes, same as you and Dean, and the scores of men and women around the world.  We hunt the demons, ghosts, and ghouls, and the things that go bump in the night.”

 

She paused for a moment, clearly letting that sink in.  “As a corporation, a company?” Dean asked incredulously. “How can that possibly work?  Why have we never heard of you before?  How long have you been around?”

 

“My family has been Hunters for generations,” she said as she pulled her jacket back on. “It was my great-great-grandfather who recognized an opportunity and the need after the Civil War to take what we did and…incorporate it, for lack of a better term.  Of course, we couldn’t let the general public know about the true nature of what we did, so it was presented as a weapons manufacturing and development firm.  It was further decided to pull away from the Hunter community, to protect our anonymity.  We let the world think our line had simply died out, a casualty of the life.”

 

Sam glanced at his brother and found him scowling.  “Pardon me for saying so, Gwen, but this is all crap.”

 

“Gwendolyn,” she corrected him, firmly, and then leaned over and pulled a bag from under the table between their beds.  It was Sam’s, and watched as she pulled his laptop from it.  She held it out to him.  “Feel free to search for us.  HWRD is publicly traded.  There have been numerous articles posted about the public work we do over the years.”

 

“Websites can be fabricated, _Gwendolyn_ ,” Dean snapped back.

 

She gave a very minute sigh.  “Of course, you’re right.  This could all be an elaborate hoax.  But why would we have bothered to give you medical attention, recover your things and your car from the motel, and then bring you to our facility, when we could have just left you for dead if that’s how we really wanted you to meet your end?”

 

Dean’s mouth shut on whatever retort he was about to give as he thought about it.  Sam didn’t bother with his laptop, but he frowned at the apparent corporate big shot.  “If you know so much about us, why have you never helped us before?”

 

“Yeah, where were you when Lillith was running around, and the Apocalypse and Lucifer and the damned Leviathans, not to mention Crowley, his witch mother, and the Host of Heaven trying to end it all?”

 

She cut them a look that Sam was pretty sure would have withered most other people.  “We had our hands full trying to keep the general populace from knowing just how close they were from annihilation.  Did you never wonder why your monster hunts were never led you to major metropolitan areas?  That’s because that’s _our_ territory.  We’ve been trying to keep the truth of the supernatural from the world for over a hundred years.  And just within the last few years, you’ve made that just shy of impossible.”

 

Anger lanced through Sam.  “Sorry if our mortal peril has been an inconvenience.”

 

“Besides, everyone knows that monsters avoid big cities anyway,” Dean argued; Sam thought he sounded a little sullen.

 

A sharply pointed brow rose on the woman’s face, and Sam wondered if she was trying to keep from smirking.  “Does the lore say that, or just historical recounts?  Because I can assure you, Dean, that pretty much anywhere you go you’ll always find monsters.”  She looked at Sam.  “Look through the histories in your Men of Letters repository.  I think you’ll find plenty of mentions of demon and monster activity in the metropolitan areas up until the late 1800s.”

 

Sam had felt some of the color drain out of his face.  “You know about the Men of Letters?” he asked weakly.

 

At that, Gwendolyn smiled ruefully.  “Until the Fifties, they were one of our best contacts.  It was tragic, truly, that Abaddon was able to so completely destroy them.  Our failure to stop the demon knight, to save those men and women is still one that haunts us to this day.  It’s a blight on our record that we can never hope to erase, nor would we want to.  We tried to find as many of their strongholds as possible and were able to recover quite a bit of lore and history- not as much as yours, don’t get me wrong, but enough that it gave us a better understanding of what we could face and how we could stop it.”

 

“So what about the other Hunters, huh?” Dean’s face was turning red as his voice rose. “It was okay just to leave them to die?”

 

The woman sighed, and folded her hands together in front of her, head bowing slightly.  “Of course it isn’t.  We’ve helped where we could, but we could never be everywhere at once.  We’ve felt each loss acutely: Ellen, Jo, Rufus, Bobby, Charlie.”  Sam was startled when she gave a sudden bitter laugh.  “We were within days of contacting Charlie about joining our organization when she was killed.  Even _we’re_ tied down with HR nonsense.”

 

 Dean was glaring at her now, but all Sam felt was suddenly tired.  “Okay, so why now?”

 

“Yeah, why pull our asses out of the frying pan now,” Dean spat, “when it was so convenient to leave us hanging before?”

 

“Because you need our help.”

 

Sam could see his brother start to bristle, and braced himself for the inevitable explosion— that never happened, because there was a rustle of what sounded like wings and a whoosh of displaced air, and suddenly Castiel was standing in front of Gwendolyn.  She took a step back out of reflex, and then snatched her phone from one her suit pockets.  She had barely flicked a finger over the display when the door to the room opened again, and Dr. Chidike rushed into the room.  “Don’t call security, they already know he’s here!”

 

“You broke the wards and called him?” she asked tightly, clearly trying to restrain her fury.

 

“Yes, Sabitha contacted me,” Cas replied; he still hadn’t moved.  Sam was having a difficult time reading his expression.  Without a word, the angel touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead.  An instant later, his injuries had vanished.  Cas turned to Sam and did the same; he only had the space of a half-a-breath to feel the light and warmth that suffused him before he felt the throbbing ache of his various injuries evaporate completely. “You should have done so sooner, Gwendolyn.  I’ve been looking for the Winchesters for days.”

 

“She didn’t have the clearance.”  It was pretty clear to everyone that even as she had said it, that it had sounded lame even to her.

 

Dean was pulling the wires from him, the machines that he had been hooked to frantically beeping their now unneeded warnings.  When he started to yank his IV out, Sabi was suddenly there, batting his hand away.  For a moment, Sam was sure that Dean was going to hit the doctor, but instead he simply watched warily as she gently removed the IV and replaced it with a cotton swab and some medical tape.  “It’d be pretty dumb to go ahead and undo some of the repairs your angel friend just did.”

 

As his brother climbed out of the medical bed and rooted out of his retrieved bag for some clothes, Sam let Sabi disconnect the monitors and IV.  “You know Cas.”

 

It wasn’t a question, but the doctor nodded anyway.  She cast a quick glance at Gwendolyn, who was just staring stonily at the scene, and then seemed to mentally shrug.  “He was one of our contacts in the events leading up to the Apocalypse, although we haven’t seen much of him after he joined ‘Team Free Will’.  He’s helped our field operatives from time to time.”  Sam blinked at her sudden bashful smile.  “He came to our wedding.”

 

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and then settled on a stunned expression.  Cas didn’t seem to notice as he said, “Yes, it was a lovely affair.”

 

Sam didn’t bother to hide his disbelief.  “You’ve known about this the entire time?”

 

The angel nodded at him.  “Yes.”

 

“And you didn’t even think we might want to know about it!?” Dean exploded.

 

Cas was wearing that impassive expression that even Sam found incredibly frustrating at times.  “No, Dean, I didn’t.  HWRD, Inc.’s success is a direct result of its being a closely guarded secret.”

 

Gwendolyn finally broke her silence.  She seemed to have regained some of her composure, because she spoke in even, almost pleasant tones: “Please get dressed, and I’ll take you on a tour of this particular facility.  I hope you’ll come to understand and believe that we are _not_ your enemy.”

 

She didn’t wait for their reply, but simply left the room.  Sabi sighed deeply.  “I might actually get fired for this,” she muttered, and then she offered the brothers an apologetic smile. “This really isn’t the way we wanted you to find out about us.  I really hope you’ll give us a chance.”

 

Once she was gone, however, Sam was unsurprised to see Dean immediately wheel on Cas.  “Screw this.  Get us the hell out of here.”

 

“No, Dean.  Gwendolyn and Sabitha are correct.  You do need to meet these people, see the good work they do.”

 

Sam shook his head, frowning.  “No offense, Cas, but it’s hard to trust ‘The Initiative’ out there.”

 

Dean chuckled as he started getting dressed.  “Well, I was thinking this was more ‘Wolfram & Hart’, but The Initiative works too.”  Sam favored his brother with a blank look.  “What?  I know geek things too.”

 

Pulling some clothes out of his own bag, Sam then got dressed as well.  “Regardless, it would have been nice to know that something like this existed.”

 

“It would have been nice to know that a lot of things existed, Sam,” Cas said, not unkindly, “but that tends to be the nature of this world.”

 

Having shoved his feet into his boots in a show of clear frustration, Dean straightened and pointed at Cas.  “Crap philosophy lesson aside, you gonna help us out here or what?”

 

Castiel looked amused for a moment, and then shook his head ‘no’.  “What I said just a moment ago still stands.”  And with that he was gone again.

 

“Son of a _bitch_.”

 

Sighing, Sam pulled on his own boots and stood.  “Look, maybe we can find a way out on this little tour or whatever.  Then we can figure out where we are and go from there.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.  Let’s just get this over with.”

 

They repacked their bags, and then Dean tried the door.  It opened without incident into an unremarkable hallway that had a distinctly office building vibe.  Gwendolyn was a few feet away, further down the hallway, having an obviously heated conversation with someone on her phone.  Sam cleared his throat, and watched as she angrily snapped her finger against the phone’s surface.  He could see Dean starting to smirk out of the corner of his eye.  “Bad day at the office?”

 

Gwendolyn afforded him a single scathing glance, and then pulled two laminated badges from the outer pocket of a tablet case that she evidently hadn’t carried into the room before.  “These will give you access to the building for the time being.  We’re working on getting your biometrics and astral signatures added to the security mainframe, after which you won’t need them any longer.  This process can take several days, however, so please don’t loose them.”

 

“Astral signatures?” Sam asked, clipping his badge to his breast pocket, his curiosity overriding his concern for the moment.

 

“We take security very seriously, Sam.  Our buildings are heavily warded, and our employees thoroughly scanned on a daily basis- sometimes more- but we know firsthand that biometrics can be replicated.  Astral signatures can tell us more accurately if anyone has managed to pick up a… hitchhiker.”

 

“A hitchhiker.  Cute,” Dean scoffed, but Sam was impressed by the idea.

 

It would not be the first time he was impressed that day, as it turned out.  It became clear within just minutes that an easy escape wasn’t on the table when they were led to an observation patio that overlooked the heart of Manhattan’s financial district.  Gwendolyn explained that the New York office took up several top floors of one of the commercial high-rises, and that various wards and sigils had been carved, painted, and/or otherwise etched into the foundation, in the walls and even under the carpets in the building.  She clearly hadn’t overstated the thoroughness of the company’s security.

 

Even Dean looked taken aback when she took them into what she had called their ‘contact hub’.  It was an enormous room filled with people, computers, giant monitors that covered the walls, and very old books that sat in shelves that lined the perimeter.  A hush had fallen over the hive of chatter that had been present when the doors had been opened, as the frantic activity seemed to stutter.  A few excited whispers of “Sam and Dean!” had slowly rippled through the room, and then just as gradually, activity began as normal again.  “It should be unsurprising that you’re something of celebrities around here.”

 

Sam didn’t have to look at his brother to know he was probably wearing an insufferable smirk.  “I get that a lot.”

 

Sam ignored Dean in favor of wandering over to one of the areas close by where a middle-aged man was speaking into a headset while three monitors showed a feed from the different head-mounted cameras.  Without even looking at him or breaking eye contact with his monitors, the man- Nathan Evhardt, the nameplate resting on the side edge of his desk read- handed Sam an earpiece and mic set.  Sam slid it on, and heard a woman’s voice.  “EMF readings are consistent with this level of activity.  Beta team is advised to salt the earth.  Gamma team is on roasting duty, but is en route has not verified contact yet.  Keep your weapons hot, people.  She hasn’t shown any signs of violence yet, but that could change if she starts to feel threatened.”

 

Sam watched a couple of people move in front of the camera, and then crouch by a doorway.  One of them pulled out what looked like a retractable tape measure, but when he pulled out the edge, a length of string emerged.  He held it out to the other person, and they covered the length of the doorway.  Sam was just beginning to understand when they pulled the center of the taut string a few inches off the floor and then let go.  It was hard to see, but a faint puff of something came from string as it snapped down.  The string was retracted, and a small white line lay where the string had been.  He could see in the background of the shot that groups of other people were doing the same thing along the windowsills and doorways of the room.

 

“Salt lines,” he murmured, nodding. “Nice.”

 

“It’s an apartment building in the Bronx,” the man monitoring the situation told him, finally speaking. “The police started getting reports of disturbances when a couple bought one of the apartments and started doing renovations.  We were called in to assess the situation when all of the usual suspects were ruled out: vandals, bad pipes, vermin.  We have a standard op for this sort of thing.  EMF sweep, historical documents research- find the possible culprit- and then removal.”  He finally looked over at Sam and offered his hand.  “Nate Evhardt, hunter support.”

 

Sam shook his hand, and then slid off the earpiece.  “How long have you been with the company, Nate?”

 

“Twelve years, this past August, sir.”

 

‘Sir?’  “Military?”

 

“Retired, combat wounded.  What I’d seen overseas made me unfit for work in the private sector, until I was recruited by HWRD.  They helped me learn that I wasn’t crazy, that the creature that damn near took my leg was very real, and they were equipped to stop it, and stop the things like it.  I’ve been a company man ever since then.”

 

Sam nodded.  He wondered if he was beginning to get a sense of the place, of how and why it worked.  “Thanks, Nate.  Sorry to have disturbed you.”  
  
“Not at all, Mr. Winchester.  It’ll be great to have you on board.”

 

With a noncommittal sound, Sam stood and scouted the room for his brother.  He found him rather easily as he was leaned up against a desk just a few down from where he had wandered.  Dean appeared to be in an animated conversation with a young woman in a brightly colored sari.  As he approached, he heard weapon stats and configurations flowing rapid-fire between them, each of them grinning with evident excitement.  He was still smiling when he noticed Sam approaching.  “Dude, she knew about the Colt!  She was just telling me about how they were digging into the lore to see if they can recreate it.”

 

“There are a few glyphs on the interior barrel that have been giving us trouble, but R&D seems to feel pretty confident that they can make a working prototype in the next twelve months.”

 

“And you should see the mods on their salt shell shotguns.  The dispersal pattern is almost enough that you don’t need to line the doorways.”

 

“Except it inevitably creates a ruddy mess all over the place,” the woman laughed.  She finally seemed to remember herself and stood and offered her hand to Sam.  The fact that she was only tall enough to reach his stomach made him blink for a moment before he gently took her small hand.  Her grip was incredibly strong, though, and Sam had to fight back a wince.

 

“Sammy, Sunaina,” Dean offered up introductions. “Sunaina here is one of the resident weapons researcher and, what, quartermaster?”

 

She released Sam’s hand and sat down again with a small laugh.  “Something like that.  I transferred a couple of months ago from HWRD’s Mumbai office.”

 

That surprised Sam, and it must have shown on his face, because she smiled at him.  “I didn’t realize the company was so…global.”

 

Sunaina nodded once.  “We have offices on every continent, and more safe houses around world than I think company policy will allow me to know.”

 

“I’m still not sold on the whole Corporate Hunter thing,” Dean said as he slid off of his perch on her desk, “but I will say that your operation here seems pretty slick.”  His expression darkened suddenly, as a thought seemed to occur to him. “I get that you make weapons, sure, but that can’t be all you're getting your money from.  I mean, a place like this?  You gotta be making some serious bank to keep this running.  I hope to God you’re not charging the people you help.”

 

The young woman stared at him with wide eyes, clearly shocked into silence.  It was Gwendolyn who answered as she stepped up to them.  “Of course we don’t, Dean,” she said firmly. “We’re hunters, not monsters.”

 

Sam believed her, but he knew that Dean would be a tougher sale.  “Whatever,” he muttered, then he turned back to Sunaina and smiled and winked at her.  “Thanks for the shop talk.”

 

“Oh, just wait ’til I get to take you on the ‘shop’ tour.  I’ll bring the bucket.”  He gave her a blank look.  “For all the drool.”

 

Chuckling, Dean followed with Sam as Gwendolyn led them out a door on the opposite side of the room.  Sam’s mind was still buzzing with questions and concerns.  As wary as he had been before, he didn’t feel threatened by this place anymore.  But maybe he should have been, maybe this was all an exercise to lull them into a false sense of security.  It all seemed too neat, too pretty, too safe, too…perfect.

 

He was just on the cusp of saying as much, wondering if Dean was feeling the same way, when they passed into a long, wide corridor lined with grey walls.  No, not grey walls.  There were names, sometimes very small pictures, hundreds of them, thousands.  Gwendolyn walked up to the wall and pressed the tips of her fingers against it.  “It’s so we never forget,” she said quietly into the heavy stillness that was likely perpetually present in the hall, “never forget the ones we lost, or the ones we failed.  That includes all of us, the whole community.”

 

Sam looked to where her gaze had settled, and he touched Dean’s arm and pointed out the cluster of names there: John, Mary, Kevin…  “It’s like a frickin’ Who’s Who in the hit parade of our family pain.”

 

Tearing his eyes away from it was harder than it had any right to be, and he heard Gwendolyn saying, only distantly.  “We try our hardest to learn from our mistakes, to keep from repeating them, and that’s why you’re here now.”

 

He could tell that Dean was trying not to scoff, but could see him rolling his eyes anyway.  “You said that earlier,” Sam said. “That you thought we needed your help.”

 

“Yeah, you didn’t think the end of the world several times over was a big enough thing before.  What’s got you on DEFCON 1 all of a sudden?”

 

Gwendolyn turned toward them, shoulders straightened and hands clasped in front of her.  “Until now, we’ve been able to mitigate some of the severity of the recent supernatural activity, to help keep it from reaching catastrophic global levels.”

 

“Good for you,” Dean snapped. “Thanks for being the world’s janitor.”

 

“Dean,” Sam said, his tone one of gentle warning.  He turned his attention back to Gwendolyn. “He’s right, though.  What’s changed?  We’ve taken on world ending things before.  Not saying we strictly did it alone, but we certainly didn’t have any corporate backing.”

 

“Perhaps not, but you’ve also never unleashed a cosmic force before.”  Sam exchanged an uneasy glance with his brother.  That really wasn’t supposed to be common knowledge.  Oh, right.  Cas.  Of course.  “It’s quite simple, gentlemen.  You need to take down God’s sister, the one being that _will_ destroy the Earth and everyone on it if we don’t pool our resources to stop her.  We want to help you take down The Darkness.”


End file.
